


what is love (baby don't hurt me)

by santiagone



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Coming of Age, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 01:38:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12665628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santiagone/pseuds/santiagone
Summary: He likes a lot of things about Eleven, most things, in fact. However, hedoesn'tlike difficult questions. And as fate would have it, on a warm Thursday afternoon at the quarry, El decides to ask to ask him the most difficult question of all.“Mike?” she says, sweet, as always. Her cheek is warm against her shoulder, and her hair is soft where it tickles at his neck. “What is love?”





	what is love (baby don't hurt me)

**Author's Note:**

> no proofreading, we die like men
> 
> anyway, my precious cinnamon rolls deserve the world!!!

Liking El is, to put it bluntly, a little strange. Not in a _bad_ way, and anyone who thought otherwise should perish the thought, but just… in a _different_ way. It's a little strange, sometimes, when Mike has to explain something that everybody else would normally know, and it's a little odd (and a lot heartbreaking) when he has to watch the girl he—he _likes_ throw herself right into the thick of action, when he has to tenderly cradle her head in his lap and use an old washcloth to wipe the blood away from her nose.

Most of the time, he doesn't even mind. Actually, ninety nine percent of the time, Mike kind of… likes it. He likes being the person she comes to for everything, he likes teaching her science and math and English, and he _really_ he likes kissing her and being allowed to call her El instead of Jane.

(But then again, everyone knows he has a bit of a hero complex.)

He likes a lot of things about Eleven, _most_ things, in fact. However, he doesn't like difficult questions. And as fate would have it, on a warm Thursday afternoon at the quarry, El decides to ask to ask him the most difficult question of all.

“Mike?” she says, sweet, as always. Her cheek is warm against her shoulder, and her hair is soft where it tickles at his neck. “What is love?”

Mike just about jumps out of his skin. Instinctively, his leg starts to jitter. His mouth opens but nothing comes out. _Love,_ he thinks. _What is love?_ Across the way, just out of earshot, Max and the boys are throwing rocks down into the water, their laughter loud and boisterous. 

“Mike?” El asks, the weight lifting off his shoulder. She turns to stare at him, eyes a little wide in concern, and he's struck by how pretty she is. At sixteen, her hair is longer, her clothes more fitting, but that face is still the same. _That face_.

“Sorry,” he says instantly. “I was just thinking.”

“You’re turning…” El’s fingers reach up to his cheek, impossibly cool, and he realises how hot he is all of a sudden.

“Must be from the sun,” he tries, which isn't _technically_ a lie. He's spared from the guilt, as El doesn't seem to believe him anyway.

“Is it one of those things?” El asks. “That I'm not supposed to talk about? Like periods? And sex?”

If Mike wasn’t red before, he's positively crimson now. From behind El, Max catches his eye and grins, like somehow she _knows_. She sticks her thumbs up at him, and Mike wants to flip her off, or stick his tongue out. Instead, he turns to El and grabs her hand. There's a tiny spark of electricity that makes Mike heart race, just a little. He’ll never get sick of that feeling, he thinks. Maybe Dustin and Steve’s ridiculous theory has some merit to it after all.

“No, it's just—it’s just a really big thing to talk about. A really important thing to talk about,” he adds for good measure, fumbling. “I mean, why now? Did you see something on TV, or…?”

Eleven glances up at him through her eyelashes, in that weird mix of shy and brave that she is. “I heard Nancy saying it to Jonathan.”

“Gross,” Mike says on autopilot, pulling a face.

Eleven looks bewildered and Mike immediately recognises his mistake. “Is that… bad?”

“No, no way,” he corrects quickly. “It's just weird to talk about, because it's my _sister_ and her _boyfriend_ .” He shudders even now at the thought, but he's not even sure if it's real disgust or just a show anymore. Nancy and him are closer now, even though Nancy left for college last year, and he genuinely _likes_ Jonathan, mostly because of his association with Will, but… still. It's weird.

“Love is… gross?” Eleven tries again.

She's looking more and more confused by the minute, and Mike realises with a sudden sense of urgency that he just has to dig his heels in and get down to it. He’d _promised_ that he’d help El with whatever she needs, and as anyone in the party knows, promises are a sacred thing.

He squeezes El’s hand. “Okay,” he says. “Here goes.”

Eleven gives him a small smile and a nod. “Okay,” she echoes.

“Love isn't gross. Actually, it's a good thing. A _really_ good thing,” he says earnestly, willing his blush to subside a bit. “It's like…. When you really like someone, except it's more than that. It's when you want them to be happy, always, and being around them makes you happy too. Like when you finally meet someone and you never want to let them go. And you know you'd do anything for them, because… because…”

“Because?” El presses, eyes wide, expression soft.

“Because you care about them,” he finishes lamely. His throat is dry; his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

El studies him for a long moment, brown eyes searching his like she's _looking_ for something, like she's looking right through him.

“Okay,” she says, after a long moment, and Mike furrows his eyebrows at her, glancing down at their interlocked fingers.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” El says decisively, which is… both more and less than Mike could ever have hoped for. The corners of his mouth start pulling up in a telltale smile, and El matches it with one of her own. Then, she reaches over and presses her lips to his, soft and sweet. There's a word for this, he remembers. Mrs. Byers calls it _chaste_ . Dustin calls it _gross_. Hopper mostly just growls.

“Thank you,” says Eleven, perfectly saintlike, the sunset drifting like a halo around her hair. “For telling me.”

And just like that, Mike’s blush is back in full force once again.

 

.

.

.

 

The annoying thing is, it doesn't go away. 

It's not like Mike’s thoughts _aren't_ consumed with El most of the time anyway, but now when he thinks about her curly hair or the way it feels to have made her laugh successfully, it's paired with annoying, judgemental little words like _care_ , and _like_ , and _love_.

 _Love. What is love?_ It won't leave him alone. And now that he's finally noticed it, it's like the world is out to get him.

“Yes! I love you!” Max yells at Eleven after she helps her win a D&D campaign in the basement, celebrations roaring into the night. Mike just about falls out of his chair, and when Will helps him up he looks like he's trying not to laugh.

 _“I love you,”_ says Princess Leia, crackling on the TV screen as six teenagers sit in front of it, enrapt, as Han Solo replies, _“I know,”_ and Mike takes this as his cue to run out and refill their popcorn.

It's almost two weeks later and everything is driving Mike _insane_ when he walks in on Nancy on the phone, twirling the cable, a stupid little smile on her face.

“Mmhmm. Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you, bye,” she says, putting down the receiver and the proceeding to leap back in fright. “Mike! God, what is wrong with you? Don't sneak up on me like that.”

“I wasn't sneaking,” clarifies Mike, dodging the pillow thrown his way.

“Sure,” says Nancy, sinking onto her bed. “What's with the long face? Is everything okay?”

“Everything's fine,” Mike says automatically. She raises her eyebrows, and he hesitates. Okay, so he's not fine, he's going crazy, and Nancy actually kind of, on occasion, gives good advice. Not that he'd ever tell her that. Besides, her break will be over soon, and after she goes back to college he can just not answer her calls and avoid her teasing forever.

“Okay,” he says, approaching her and sitting on the end of the bed. “So I might have a problem.”

“Go on,” says Nancy, reaching over and fixing up something in one of her papers, shoving her pen between her teeth.

“How did you know you were… you know,” says Mike, fighting uncomfortably, “in love.”

Nancy freezes. Slowly, she takes the pen from her mouth and sets it down.

“Mike,” she says, “Is this… Is this about—”

“I don't know!” Mike interrupts, glancing nervously around the room for bugs, or El, or worse, Chief Hopper. Nancy reaches out and sets a hand on his knee, and he relaxes marginally. “I don't… know.”

“Wow, okay.” Nancy blinks. “I guess I knew this moment was coming, but I—”

“You knew this moment was coming?” Mike accuses, head snapping up. “ _I_ didn't!”

“Not a specific time,” Nancy says, carefully pacifying. “Just… I knew it would come _eventually_ . One day.” She pauses, and when Mike doesn't say anything ( _can't_ say anything), she squeezes his knee. “Okay, look, in my experience, falling in love isn't like… it's not a movie. There's no music, or dramatic moment. It just… kind of creeps up on you, it grows on you, until one morning you wake up and think, 'god, my life would _suck_ without you.’ And then it just… it just makes _sense_.”

Mike thinks about it for a long moment, his leg jittering. He chews on his lip, eyes scrunched.

“I don't…”

“Knowing it and saying it are two completely different things,” Nancy interjects, and Mike suddenly wonders when his big sister pulled all her crap together and got _wise_. “Trust me, I learned that the hard way.”

“Okay,” says Mike after a moment. It seems to be the only thing in his vocabulary right now. “Okay.”

“Cool,” says Nancy, and they fall into silence for a little while, her reading one of her textbooks, him doodling arcade game characters on a spare piece of paper.

“Hey,” he says finally. “Is it weird? That… you know. I might…”

Nancy peers at him over the top of her book, looking thoughtful. “You’re sixteen, so it's a little rare—at least, the real thing is—but it's not unheard of. And considering all you she’s been through, all _you've_ been through, and the way you look at her…” Nancy smiles then, a little unexpected but not unwelcome. “No. I don't think it's weird.”

“Okay,” says Mike, and Nancy returns to her book, and he returns to his drawings.

“Hey,” she says after a moment, squinting at his drawing. “That looks kind of familiar.”

Mike glances down at it, and his stomach does a funny little flip, because _yeah_. He's unconsciously drawn a character that looks a lot like El.

Which… okay. This is becoming a problem.

 

.

.

.

 

Nancy's words bounce around in his head for that entire night like a record stuck on repeat. He twists and turns, but he can still hear her annoying voice, and he keeps reading into it like he's in some stupid English class or something.

 _It just… kind of creeps up on you_ . Mike thinks about El again, about her pretty curls and her prettier eyes, about her laugh and her ability to fit right in with their friends like she's been there all along. Sometimes he’ll say _remember when_ and then trail off because he's forgotten she wasn't with them in the third grade, because she's a staple and he can't remember what life was like without her. He even thinks about her stubbornness, about the one time they'd argued because she was tired of him protecting her from the bullies at school. _“I can handle myself_ ,” she’d said fiercely, and he'd believed her, because it was true, and he'd admired her for that; he still does. _It grows on you,_ says Nancy's voice, and Mike turns over in his bed.

Because fate loves him, his gaze catches on the grainy picture pinned to his wall. It's of him and El, cheeks pink, wrapped in scarves and woollen hats, smiling broadly at each other, not at the camera. A true candid. He remembers the day; all six of them had gone ice skating, and he'd hated it, because it was cold and wet and he had no natural grace. But it's one of his favourite memories, because El had liked it, so he'd liked it too, and he'd ended up having fun anyway.

_It's when you want them to be happy, always, and being around them makes you happy too._

Crap. Mike _really_ hates his past self. Jerkily, he throws off his covers and reaches for the radio, fingers fumbling.

“El?” he whispers urgently. “El, are you there?”

There's silence. Then, the receiver crackles. A voice, filled with sleep and static, but unmistakably El’s all the same.

“Mike? What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says, although his heart is beating a twenty miles a minute, and his skin feels hot all over. “Nothing, just — Can we hang out? Tomorrow?”

“Okay,” says El, sounding bewildered. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. I'm better than fine,” he assures, feeling jittery all over. “I'm sorry for waking you. I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Night, El.”

“Night, Mike,” she says, and her voice follows him all the way through his dreams.

 

.

.

.

 

In hindsight, Mike really should have chosen a better location for this, he thinks. Not that he doesn't like El’s house, but the fact is that she shares it with _Hopper_ , who is not only scarily protective, but in possession of a gun.

"He's not home,” Eleven says as soon as she opens the door. Her eyes are sparkling with amusement, and he rolls his eyes.

“You look pretty,” he tells her, and her cheeks turn a bit pink. Predictable as always.

“You look pretty too,” she says, opening the door wider, and he follows her in, careful not to trail any mud inside. Hopper has a freakish sixth sense for when El has any guests over. Or, he's just a good police officer.

They sit on El’s bed, and she leans over to kiss him. He lets her, despite the way his hands are clammy and his heart is beating too quick. He _likes_ kissing El, so sue him. They make out for a bit, curled up in her bed pressed up against each other until his lips are swollen and he's a little lightheaded. Hopper could walk in right now and Mike wouldn't care. (Well. He'd care a little bit.)

El smiles at him again, cheeks a little warm, and reaches into his bag for the book he brought with him.

“ _The castle of Cair Paravel on its little hill towered up above them…_ ” El reads, very carefully, and Mike is suddenly, oddly, very transfixed. She looks at him, then, head tilting. “Something to say, Wheeler?”

“You got that from Hopper,” he accuses, and she laughs, bright and clear, and he just… says it.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” says El without missing a single beat, and Mike’s heart stops.

“Wait—no, hang on. You didn't—you didn't even think about it.”

“Didn't have to,” says El nonchalantly, like she hasn't just made his heart jump out of his chest. He does note, however, that her features are dusted with pink.

He shakes his head, trying to wrap his head around it. _I love you too_. “No, but I don't want you to… to say it back when you haven't thought about it. If you don't mean it. I don't even care if you mean it!” he says, interrupting himself (his own worst enemy). “You shouldn't say it because you feel like you have to, you should do it because you want to. Because you… because you feel it too.”

“I do love you,” says Eleven, blinking at him. “And I did think about it.”

Slowly, the ringing in Mike’s ears lessens a little. She drops the book and reaches over to take his hand. His stance relaxes slightly. “You did?”

“Yes. Remember when I asked? I knew before that. Just... didn't  know how to say it,” she says, and suddenly, Mike realises he's not the only one who's been obsessing over that moment. He nods, and she fixes her eyes on him. “You make me happy. And I care about you. And I don't want to let you go.”

Mike lets go of a breath he didn't know he was holding. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” El nods. “I was going to tell you. But then Max said…” She pauses, like she's trying to remember the conversation word for word. “Boys are dumb. She said you’d… freak. That I should let you be first.”

Mike groans, falling back into El’s blankets. Her sheets smell kind of like her, which is comforting.

“Once again, Max is almost the downfall of our relationship.”

El laughs, bright and clear, and his heart skips a beat. He gives her hand a gentle tug and she falls right back into the blankets with him, curling up instinctively into his side.

“She... might have been right. I'm glad you let me figure it out for myself,” he says sheepishly. “Don't tell Max I said that.”

“Cross my heart,” El says solemnly.

Mike tilts his head and goes in for another kiss. He wants to savour this moment forever, he wants to savour it on his tongue.

“Hey,” he says when he pulls away, and she smiles at him.

“I love you.”

He's officially never going to get sick if that. “I love you back,” he says, and settles back into the blankets, giddy.

El uses her powers to retrieve the book from the floor, and she props it up between her so he can help her with the difficult words.

 _“Before them were the sands, with rocks and little pools of salt water, and the smell of the sea and long miles…”_ she continues, and Mike presses in closer and thinks, this is it. This is it, forever.

El turns the page, and life spins on.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm also santiagone on tumblr, so come gush with me about st2!


End file.
